


Nor Iron Bars a Cage

by XmagicalX (Xparrot)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Boys in Chains, Drama, Gen, Juvenilia, POV First Person, Post-Colonization, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-11-03
Updated: 1997-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/XmagicalX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the world After, people have found a way to survive - by losing everything. But for one man, nothing is lost forever...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nor Iron Bars a Cage

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: They're all CC's and 10-13's and maybe even FOX's. I  
> don't own a hair of Fox Mulder's head. Just this story, and I'm  
> making nothing off it!

Number 1835 is screaming. 1837 only whimpers, curled up with his arms wrapped around his knees and his face hidden.

1836 is an empty cell. They'll find this out soon.

Four days ago, shouting, struggling, rebelling, as half of them do, he was thrown into 1836, crack of bone against stone and then silence. Ending the noise was all those ones cared about.

Don't worry, though, there's always more screaming.

Walking through slanted halls and slanted light, ducking when the archways are too short, I hear them. Don't usually watch, sleek plasticine needles snaking into their bellies, their faces, swift metallic flash drawing a droplet of blood or a pint, depending on how much is needed. Measuring and tearing and prying, I don't see it, I stay away from those tables, those hallways.

The clean rooms with the bright lights, there I stand, background or center, observing or participating, it's my call. I oversee it all.

Three days ago they flung 1836 into one of those and I participated. They were asking and I entered and saw and made them leave, only the second time I've made them all leave.

He stood shakily, watching me, wrapped in dark cloth from the cell, eyes darting. He'd been in one before, because he didn't come close to the barrier, remembering electricity burning his limbs from some past experience.

Years ago, or maybe not, I lose track, not watching days, never leaving here. But some time before, at the beginning of this, something sparked when I walked into one of these rooms. And for the first time I ordered the rest out. 4005 on the other side saw me and slammed himself against the barrier, three times total. Didn't know that could be done without death. But he survived, and when he woke he showed me how his mind still functioned. How much a memory he retained.

He didn't know anything, he never did, and I debated for a long time about it. Thought of past relations and times Before and at last ordered it all the same. But painlessly, swift. And I didn't allow a sample, so there won't be any duplication. What's gone for me is gone, I keep it that way.

And now it sparked again, a memory from before, which they don't want and try to eradicate but they can't touch me. Won't touch me. I don't know how safe I really am.

Inside 1836 some of them must have touched, he only watched me, and I wondered if he still knew English, how much did they take from this one? Curious, I used human speech, and he responded.

"No one speaks English anymore."

"I've always liked it better. Speak it here."

"Who am I now?" Resigned, and that answered my own question, that he had been in one of these before, probably many times.

"1836." Allowed him assimilate this.

"Below 5000." Something had been left inside. Why didn't I simply order it then? Maybe I just wanted to talk.

"Yes. I'm the Commandant."

"You know, there are those who are jealous of you."

"You're one of them?"

"I wouldn't be for all the freedoms in the world. This is where all the death is."

Last time, with 4005, we had argued, when he finally accepted at that I was untouchable beyond the barrier. Or perhaps not even argued, but conversed. He told me that death is everywhere, the world is death, and only fools think that below 5000 is the end.

I argued but I didn't disagree. I don't see it, I'm here all the time. Maybe that's why. It's my choice not to leave. But I know, deep down I know what's out there.

"Do you know why you're here?" I asked 1836.

"Escaped too many times?"

Not standard to do so but I told him. "I don't know. You were tagged to be brought here."

"Inside me." His hand touched the back of his neck.

I nodded and wondered if the gesture even exists still, though he seemed to understand. Not all gone, most of it there, in fact. Implant memory--then it occurred to me that he might not remember being implanted himself.

"When did that happen?"

"I don't know." Shook his head, clutched and released it. "Did it?"

"It happened."

"I don't remember, I don't--"

"But you knew."

"My dreams." His eyes met mine and they were wild. "I still have them, the word doesn't exist to them but I still sleep and I still dream."

"So do I." Anger flashed from him and then halted, turned in on itself as confusion. I didn't explain anything more.

"I dreamed--I dreamed that they--they--and I found it, I cut through..." His hand reached out and rubbed the base of his neck, tiny scar invisible to him. "But that's where--back of the neck, that's how you kill--"

I don't do it often but they've taught me how, and I needed to know. Opened my mind to his, and there I saw green gas flowing out, felt him coughing and one of them toppling.

No wonder they put him in the 5000s. Must have been a shock, that any of their subjects knew that mortal secret.

He wasn't remembering it clearly, eyes closed, swaying. I touched him once more, glimpsed a flash. For a moment he and I lived the same thought, the same memory--

Dark and cloudy sky, blackened streets, broken skeletons of skyscrapers above. I hadn't been outside to the cities in so long and this is why. People clustered in hovels, dressed in rags and mud.

Pressed into a dark nook, but this isn't where I--where he normally lived, this was different to him, his body tensely alert when striding these unknown territories.

Silver flash, tall and clean, and eyes go to this god among the people, one of them. Stalking, smooth as a cat, through the humans, searching, reaching with forces seen in the metallic glows touching each person and unseen in the prying of the minds.

Press back further into shadows, to be unfound, so I'm not implanted--he wasn't, not when this happened. Thoughts free and body undetectable.

And then, that one stopped, turned, approached a cranny away from him, where another person hid--All obscured, energy of the moment hazing the memory. A single thunderous noise. When the haze clears the one, that semi-god is fallen. The people flee and so does he, running back through alleys and shadows, to a goal--

And that was dim too. When I tried to see deeper I encountered a wall, unyielding, blocking away every memory. No more to be found, so I withdrew.

Once, only once before this I had seen another's thought so clear. They never suspected that, because they never knew that I had used their teaching for anything more than interrogations. But I wanted to know the limits, I am a human, and I tested myself.

And managed to find her, untouched. That had been incredible. That somehow, she had escaped, out there. There's still life there in the wilderness, they thought they had destroyed it but they underestimated the natural forces of our world and gradually it's growing back.

I warn them but they ignore it. They can see it for themselves, and they don't think it matters. They even are aware of the people still struggling there but they discount them as well. Possibly rightly. Their numbers are small.

And she's among them.

Wonder what those of my species are doing in the wilderness. Ignoring everything, perhaps. They must repress it somehow or risk being crushed by despair, all their precious dreams vanished, no chance of recovery. This is what I better wish, because if they tried to regain them, they'd have to find targets, and revenge would motivate such a search. And the man who betrayed his race--so said 4005, that time long ago. "There's no punishment in the mind of humanity or of them that could ever fit your crime." That I'd finally moved beyond justice, and damnation could not even approach recompense.

I'm sure my bloody murder at their hands would be a substitute that they would accept, however unsatisfying it may be.

1836 didn't even try to hurt me, though. That's what they've done for me, made it safe, that wasn't their first intent but here, that's the result.

So why did I tell him?

"I know why you're here. Do you remember killing one?"

"One of them?" Quick jerk of the head.

"Less than a year ago. And you used" this is truly why he was here, put in this room, "a gun to do it."

"A gun?"

I made a motion, cops and robbers, from a childhood so distant I wonder if it really happened. "A weapon. It fires bullets. You used to carry one, your reflexes would have guided it for you. Where did you get it?"

"I don't remember--I used to carry one?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Before." That's a word they all understand. They don't remember it, none of them do, but they know it. Before. To some it's a nightmare.

To 4005, who was long ago after all and everyone hadn't been dealt with yet, to him before was a paradise, a stormy Eden to be sure, but he recalled when he could travel and vote and laugh.

To 1836, Before was a forgotten space, hidden behind a wall where he never thought to press. But with my words, he peered into his mind. "I had a name, before."

"Yes." And I knew what it was.

"We all had names." Memories are connected. If one tie holding them back is snapped, others start to stretch, pull, finally tear free themselves. "Did you?"

"No." I had one, but he never knew it, and it would mean nothing.

"You're Commandant now."

"That's my title, not a name," I explained.

He retreated back, rubbed his temples and tried to break through the walls in his thoughts.

"You had a title before as well." I was making conversation. That was all. I don't get to speak much, certainly not in the language I grew up with.

"I don't remember." He sounded sullen, angry with himself.

I didn't tell him what it was. I'm not stupid. But he was thinking and things kept entering his mind. "I had a title, a gun, then I had respect, didn't I? I was somebody important, then, before?"

"In some ways you were very important."

1836 laughed. I haven't heard that sound in so long, they can't make it and humans never have reason. Harsh, sarcastic, barely there, but a laugh, and that was when I knew. They hadn't taken nearly enough.

"Don't think I don't know it all," he confirmed this. "I dream still. I know. It should have been in my power to stop this. In my hands." Oddly, 4005 had thought something similar. For different reasons, but all the same, taking the blame.

"So why didn't you?" I asked him, curious to know his reasoning, twisted though it must be.

"If I could remember that..." He trailed off. "There's a chasm."

"What do you mean?"

"Inside me, a tear, a dark spot." Silence before he spoke again. "It drags everything into it. A black hole in my memory."

Good for me that such a hole exists, barricading that portion of his thought. For that reason alone was he quiet behind the barrier. Of all men he could have broken through it to reach me, if only he could recall why.

I monitored him that night, and watched him scream while sleeping. At last I entered the room.

He watched me cautiously, as he had the day before. "Why can't you ask me what you need and then end it?"

"Because we don't yet know what we need. Do you want it ended?"

He shrugged, another dead gesture existing in autonomic response only. "I don't know." He hesitated. "Maybe, if I knew--" and went no further.

"You were very loud last night. No one adjacent slept."

"I told you I dreamed."

"And you remember those?"

"My dreams?" 1836 glared suspiciously, finally admitting, "I try to." But he wouldn't tell me what they were about.

So I pried inside, searched out the contents, found grey clouds which I tore through. He whimpered, feeling that touch, though usually they're oblivious to it.

Saw flickers, glimpses of the past, of Before. A montage cutting across a lifetime, family, friends, job, home, and all orbiting the emptiness he had described. The wall, behind which certain memories rested.

Could I penetrate it? "You had a sister?"

"I still do." Defiant. "No matter that I wish I didn't. Riding high, their pawn, you know her--" and then he broke off, eyes staring. "Yes," he repeated. "You do know her. You knew her all along."

I raised my eyebrows. "Did I?"

"And you never told me, but I always..." This time he trailed off into silence, not a sharp break but a confused mumble. "I did know you from before. I remember."

Why not? "You knew me."

"But..." He concentrated, at last murmured, "A desk. I stood in front, explained...reported to somebody. Asking me questions, I tried to explain..." His hands sketched flat planes in space. "Files. Paper, before everything was stored," and his hand crept up again to touch the back of his neck.

When next I saw 1836 I brought a reminder.

"What's this?"

"A photograph. You looked at many in your life before."

"Who's it of?" he asked, showing that something inside remembered.

"A man who was here a long time ago. Just After. 4005."

"But who was he?" His fingers slid over the glossy surface, brow crinkling with the effort to identify the image. "Sir..." the words started to come.

They rammed against the wall inside, and he dropped the photo. "I don't know his name."

Because names mean nothing. Too objective, too based in structured thought and not perceptions. "Walter Skinner," I told him, and he only stared blankly, uncomprehending.

That had been stored behind the wall. Gradually I pieced together what lay beyond it. One single thing, but everything connected had been blocked, every event after a certain point fogged or erased, every person existing in relation diminished or deleted. I, who he had known after that time, I was a vanished thought to him--and all memories he possessed of me from before that self-imposed limit were different enough that he never made the link.

And because I understood it, they could as well.

Break it down, they commanded.

I protested, but they had seen the danger, beyond the gun he had wielded long ago. They had finally understood, as I did, that the wall inside was not a creation of their own.

1836 had erected it himself, as protection for something, someone, more important still than his own mind. And knowing this, they couldn't help but fear it, and so ordered its destruction.

Of course I obeyed. When next I went to him I demanded an explanation of the killing, a full description. He gave me what I had seen inside his head, with the same fog obscuring parts. I worked at those. "Why'd you kill that one?"

"I don't know."

"An insane action. You should have known it would have placed you below 5000 in the end. There must have been some reason."

"I told you," he growled, "I don't remember."

"I know what you don't." His attention was instantaneous. "It's not hard to deduce. Why else, but to save someone?"

"It only got myself here, as you've pointed out."

"Not yourself. Another person." Strange thought these days. People cannot imagine raising their hand to help another. But neither can they imagine doing so to beat another. Humans are weak creatures; somewhere some freedom must be sacrificed.

His own sacrifice now was forgotten. Almost. "But who--" and he flung his head back and forth, as if he could physically crack the wall. He had made it so sturdy, constructed it in such a way that even he himself could neither scale it nor see through it.

And at that second, when he was straining hardest to break it down, I gave him the tool to do so. The knowledge to bridge the gap. Her appearance, in another photograph from the past. Her name, though it meant nothing. And her position, partner, a word that no longer existed except buried in his memory. Introducing again into his thoughts what he had hidden so long ago to protect.

With every syllable I uttered I could see his eyes widen, his face gradually grow stiller as his mind began to explode into chaos. The wall broke like a dam, the pressure of my words flooding through the cracks, every memory washing a little more of it away.

When I stopped speaking he stood silent. At last the torrent slowed and his voice rang out calm, bleak. "How did she die?"

"I don't know. When did you last see her?"

"Years ago." He couldn't give me falsehoods, not vulnerable as he was now. "I shot--that one of them I killed, so they wouldn't find her. They caught me. I never saw her after that. We were living in the wilderness--but none of us are left."

The flood extinguished the last fires inside of him. The wall had been all that had supported him, and now he swayed, almost toppled. Almost ended. Like all of those below 5000.

So I carried out my orders. I made the motion to break down the final remnant of wall; in my hands I lifted it, struck it. A gesture I hadn't made in years, a sign from Before.

The fire flared in my face, on his, the reddish glow of hellfire. No more cigarettes, but I had kept this memento.

And in his eyes I saw reflected the lighter's flame. And somehow he took it in himself, until his eyes burned of their own accord, and even as I extinguished it I heard his mindless, silent scream, saw him launch himself.

Towards the barrier, the barrier which I had lowered to minimum to give him the picture. The barrier which normally is lethal, normally will stop any force, but it wasn't full strength and wasn't built for a force as desperate as this.

An explosion of sparks trailing down followed by an explosion of sound, high anxious wails of alarms alerting the universe to this event.

I couldn't hear them, for he was on top of me, remembering my crimes with more vividness even than long-ago 4005.

I was amazed when I awoke, that I even could awake. I knew they would never let me die, yet still--

Of course 1836 was gone. He never had been stupid; he had soon fled, away from this place. Immediately I ordered plans of capture, ways to regain him. A difficult task: he ripped the implant out of his neck with his own nails.

They've tried their own plans, now that they know. Sent out their own groups, without even telling me, but I've watched. And I see something in their pattern that they've missed. Their careful wolves are unintentionally herding him, guiding him. Out of the cities, into that regrowing wilderness.

I told him the truth when I said I didn't know how she died. Because she hasn't died. I had seen that when I looked, and I've watched for her after that, but she was never found. He was wrong, there are still some people out there. Planning in ways they don't think are possible for humans now, After.

She's one of them. And he will be again, out there, finding them and eventually, inevitably, her. They're pushing him there.

I haven't bothered to tell them this. I haven't warned them off this track. Why bother, since they probably wouldn't listen to me.

After all, they didn't listen when I warned them about the wilderness. And though I foresaw what came and what is still to come, they didn't listen when I told them it would be dangerous to bring down Mulder's wall.


End file.
